


You Could Be My Family

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baking, Bonding, F/M, Strangers to Lovers, Teen Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, step-sibling vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty Cooper is possibly the sweetest, smartest person Jughead Jones has ever had the pleasure of being around. She's also the daughter of the woman his father is dating. He’s glad Betty and he aren't technically related, especially so he doesn’t have to feel as guilty about the tight, hungry feeling in his gut whenever he sees her smile.





	You Could Be My Family

**Author's Note:**

> Not technically a step-siblings AU but definitely has those kinda vibes. I mean, I love the "naughty" vibe as much as the next person but this is more on the "nice" side of the spectrum. If that sounds like your kinda thing, I hope you enjoy ^-^

Jughead’s mouth runs dry, which is quite a feat considering he’d been salivating eagerly at the smell of food not two seconds ago.

 

She’s _pretty._ _Really_ pretty. Like, Hitchcock would cast and stalk her kinda pretty. Maybe that means she is graceful too? Emotive? And surrounded by cupcakes.

 

“Ah, Jughead. Found your way to the kitchen, I see. This is my youngest, Betty.” He’s too distracted to protest the woman's guiding hand on his shoulder, nor to clarify, “ _youngest…friend?”_ Because he’d hate to think this girl is related to Alice. “She’s not the pregnant one.” Both Jughead and the daughter shoot Alice a look as if Betty’s flat stomach isn’t the obvious indicator that she’s not eight months along. “You two both love reading and writing and…cinema.” Alice’s feigned politeness always strikes him as odd, especially considering how old he is. It’s not like she has to impress her boyfriend’s son. He’s old enough to know the drill by now.

 

Betty’s genial smile and tug of her ponytail sort of hooks into his ribs and straightens his spine enough that he actually contemplates shaking her hand instead of awkwardly nodding his head. “Hi.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Is it possible for a girl to _sound_ smart?

 

“Betty, why don’t you use Jughead in the kitchen?”

 

“O-kay,” she puzzles, giving her mom an odd look before turning to him. “Would you _like_ to help in the kitchen?”

 

“Organizing snacks for a baby shower is _totally_ on my bucket list,” he snarks unabashedly, trying to suppress the wave of relief that she laughs at his joke.

 

“I have about eight million cupcakes that need frosting and my wrist is just about to cramp.”

 

“Pushing all the hard work on me, I see. Are we gendering these things?”

 

Alice has already retreated to finish some last-minute touches for the party, but Betty leans in conspiratorially anyway, like her mom can hear through walls. “Just between us? Polly’s having twins.”

 

“Evil?”

 

She shoots him a look as she reaches for a piping bag. “Only one, probably. Mom doesn’t know yet, so we’re keeping it hush-hush. A boy and a girl.”

 

A bag of mushy frosting that he wants to shovel right into his mouth is placed carefully into his hand like a lopsided pen. “Sounds like trouble to me.” Her fingers curl around his to show him the proper way to wield the sugary confection but they sort of feel like they’re squeezing his airways.

 

“It usually is.”

 

He thinks he falls just a little bit in love with her smile.

 

~~~~~

 

He carries a dessert tray back to the kitchen, the one job he feels he can do without wanting to stab himself in the eye with a spoon. Plus, Betty is the only one besides Jellybean who seems decent enough to talk to. Her hair’s down now, soft waves clipped back by a little barrette as she carefully mixes pink and blue mocktails by the sink. He leans on the counter and gestures with his chin.

 

“Any of those gonna take the edge off this party? I think your mom has apologized about my hat like eight times.”

 

“I like your hat.” She only glances over, but she’s smiling at the pitcher in her hand like she can see him in it. “And if by _take the edge off,_ you mean inspire a sugar high, sure.”

 

“I will gladly take a diabetic coma rather than watch one more tiny pair of shoes be passed around the room.” Betty spares him a chiding, if sympathetic glance. “Any cuteness is negated when they no longer become a novelty. How do you live with this?”

 

“I think it’s known as _keeping my mouth shut._ And stress-baking. Which is probably why my mother had to clarify…”

 

“That you’re not pregnant?” he clarifies, watching the way she sinks onto her heels. “Because I’m not gonna lie, it was kinda weird.”

 

“I don’t know why she—I don’t even have a boyfriend so it’s not like—” Betty cuts herself off, as if realizing the topic might be inappropriate for a relative stranger. “Anyway, I’m sure your dad has his things too.”

 

“Yeah. He gets on me for eating like I’m pregnant. At least you’re being useful and _making_ food instead of demolishing it.”

 

She shakes her head at him with a grateful smile.

 

“So, I was thinking about the book you mentioned…”

 

Maybe it's possible to fall a little in love with her mind.

 

~~~~

 

He sneaks over to the Cooper house more often, eager to get a glimpse of Betty. They friend each other on social media, despite the fact that he thinks it’s a ridiculous social construct, and message each other late at night about books and movies and the latest Cooper-ism.

 

She’s great.

 

Really great.

 

He rubs his beanie and resigns himself to being _really good friends_.

 

Especially when during one dinner, Alice casually asks him if he has any _suitable_ friends he’d like to set her up with.

 

“Mom,” Betty hisses, mortified.

 

“It’s just a question,” Alice shrugs, taking a hearty sip of wine and reaching over to rub FP’s hand.

 

Betty grips her fork so hard, he half-expects it to bend.

 

Polly, on the other hand, doesn’t read the room as easily, and says, “I bet Jason knows somebody who would take you out.”

 

“Thanks, Pol, but I’m not a charity case.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Polly rubs her engorged belly as if it’s a crystal ball. “Fine, but at this rate all you’ll have are _internet boyfriends_.”

 

It might be his imagination, but he thinks Betty darts a nervous glance in his direction.

 

“That’s still better than my imaginary girlfriend,” he jokes, hoping to divert the attention. FP chides him, and Alice changes the subject. Something taps his foot under the table. Slides against it, actually. Looking up, he catches Betty’s expression as she mouths _thank you_ , and thinks he might fall a little bit more in love with her bright green eyes.

 

~~~~

 

Their parents are more than a little toasted, playing smooth rock and roll and dancing in the living room instead of seeking out dessert. Betty shares a confused, exasperated smile with him. He gets up and stretches out a hand to take her plate, but instead finds himself receiving the warmth of her palm against his.

 

With a nervous chuckle, he looks out to the living room. “Did you want to dance?” he clarifies.

 

“I’d love to.”

 

They camp it up, cheesy half-spins, stepping on each other, laughing. He hates dancing. But he likes Betty. This feels more like making fun of their parents, pretending to be googley-eyed and sexy and…

 

Her hands link around his neck, body flush against him for a whole second before she dips back. He’s painfully, horribly aware of how parched he is. How desperately he needs something against his mouth. Or the front of his pants. And it probably shouldn’t be Betty.

 

Fingers digging into her hips, he pushes them a few inches apart, leaning down to her ear to remind her of the only thing he can think of. “Hey, maybe we should have that dessert?”

 

“Wanna bring it to the basement? That way we can let these two cut a rug up here.”

 

_Cut a rug._ He shakes his head affectionately. “Great.”

 

They meander down to the basement with the cheesecake and raspberries and talk about everything under the sun.

 

“Would you think less of me if I licked my plate clean?”

 

“I can’t imagine I’d think any less of you than I do now.”

 

Just as he’s about to lower his head, he shoots her a wry look. She’s biting the inside of her cheek to pull back a smile. Just to spite her, he makes the most obnoxious show out of licking his plate clean that he can, the sludgy and sweet textures coating his tongue in a triumphant swirl before he swallows with an audible, _ah._

 

“Classy.”

 

“I try.”

 

“Cooper Manners dictate I must tell you that you forgot to keep your pinky up.”

 

He’s glad he’s not a Cooper, especially so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about the tight, hungry feeling in his gut.

 

“Damn it, you’re right. Give you me your plate so I can do it properly.” As he reaches across for it, she wrinkles her expression and pushes her whole back into him to protect her food. Something thrums in his chest, and maybe it’s because he thinks he loves the way she moves.

 

~~~~

 

They’ve taken to heading to the basement when they want to hang out, Jughead often unceremoniously dropped off when his dad wants to take Alice out on a date. They always suggest they work on homework together, like either of them needs help in that department.

 

Betty wraps them both in giant blankets, her feet in his lap because they tend to get cold, and they binge-watch the old _Poirot_ detective series or whatever else suits their fancy. As he scrolls on his phone through an episode about a love affair, he notes the way her head tilts when she’s studying something. The characters. The scenery. Even people in real life, on occasion.

 

“So…what was Polly saying about an internet boyfriend?”

 

“What?” She’s retreating, feet tucked up out of his lap before planting them firmly on the ground.

 

“In-ter-net boy-friend?” he repeats. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if…”

 

“If what?” she huffs, dragging her ponytail out and ruffling the wavy hair to shield part of her face. “If I was perusing chat forums for someone to tell me I’m pretty?”

 

“N—no. I wouldn’t peg you for that particular form of validation-seeking.”

 

She doesn’t laugh, gaze fixed firmly on the screen and her arms knit tight across her chest.

 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I just meant…I was wondering if you had any…prospects. Or people I should implicate in case of your murder.”

 

Lip twitching, she shakes her head.

 

“None?”

 

She rolls her head in his direction without actually making eye contact. “Well gee, now that you’ve asked a _second_ time…”

 

“I can’t ask a question?”

 

“That’s something my mom would say.”

 

“Ouch.” He puts a hand to his chest. “That wounds me.”

 

“I’m going to become a crazy spinster cat lady,” she sighs resignedly, firmly unfocused on the story ahead of her. “Who’s on your possible date-murder suspect list?”

 

“Um, you, right now.”

 

Surprised, she turns to him. Her cheeks are a little pink, and so is her nose. He’s not entirely sure it’s from the cold of the basement, but he gets the urge to cup his hands and blow warm air on her anyway.

 

“I meant—because you look like you want to murder me.”

 

She rolls her eyes, turning back to the screen with a barely-concealed wry smile.

 

“No dates for you either, then?”

 

“No prospects. Just lonely chat forums where people repeatedly ask me to take my hat off.”

 

“You make it sound like you’d feel more naked with your hat off than if you were otherwise devoid of clothes.”

 

“Maybe I do.”

 

“Really?” she smirks, eyeing him over in a way that makes him want to bait her like an idiot.

 

“We could test it. Hat and nothing else or nothing else but the hat. It could be the title of my memoir. Or sex tape.”

 

Laughing, she scoots in closer to him. “You’re so weird. But I would definitely read that memoir. Unique, snarky, and just a little bit sexy.”

 

“I’d like to think my nakedness is more than a _little bit_ sexy.”

 

“Now who’s seeking validation?”

 

The show continues playing, and he keeps waiting for her to reach for his hat. To make him bare down here. To try it. After a while, he puts his arm around the back of the couch. He notes the way she wiggles in closer, her ear pressed against his heartbeat.

 

He loves the way she listens.

 

~~~

 

It doesn’t seem too weird to invite her to the pool with his friends. They’re always asking for more girls around, and she is a girl, who _knows_ girls. He gets a nice warm hug from her before she introduces the line of ladies she’s brought for what the guys have deemed _intermingling_.

 

“Nice legs,” one of his buddies motions when the girls emerge in their proper attire.

 

“Yeah,” he swallows, immediately needing to cannonball and splash her just to get the thought of her thighs wrapped around his face out of his head. It doesn’t get any easier when they later play “chicken fight,” and they _are_ wrapped around his shoulders, just facing the wrong direction. The proper one. She’s competitive, and so is he, so they end up swallowing a ton of water and working muscles neither knew they had until that night.

 

He hooks his arms around her more times than he can count, never having had this much of an excuse to touch her before. When she tugs on his hair for balance, it’s like she’s loosening up every thought he’s never had about the opposite sex. She wraps her legs around his waist, piggybacking throughout the pool, and he paddles with the slow ease of a man in the throws of attention.

 

“So?” she whispers hotly over his shoulder. “How naked are you right now?”

 

With an ear-splitting grin, he turns around to squeeze her. “ _Very_.”

 

Their friends don’t know. _How_ he knows her. _Why_. Just that they talk online and hang out at each other’s houses. As her gaze flickers from his lips to his eyes…he wonders. If it would be easy. To just be a boy and a girl and be stupid and have fun, his hands already skimming her bare waist. He can feel the puff of her breath against his lips, and he _wants_ …he _wants_ …

 

“Hey, chicken-shits! Who’s up for another round of chicken?”

 

_I am_ , he sighs, pulling away and under the water to hide his shame. Betty pushes away with the full length of her arms and sits on the side for a bit until her friends wrangle her back into the fray.

 

He probably splashes her too much, laughs too loudly, and makes an idiot of himself with his friends, but by the end of the night, his cheeks actually hurt from smiling. He loves the way she makes him laugh.

 

~~~

 

The blonde hair looks fuzzier, not having been in a hair tie all day. “Juggie,” she grins, eyes dancing with a light that he thinks is her mom’s fault for re-dosing her fever medication too quickly and leaving him to _keep an eye on her_ while the parents go out on a date.

 

“Yes, Betty?” he says, all patience and propriety. He lifts his arm up so she can crawl under it.

 

“Tell me a story. One of _your_ stories.”

 

“Okay.” He starts her off on a short story about the disappearance of a local kid from five years ago, his theories on who did it.

 

“You’re really smart.”

 

“Am I?’ he smiles, tempted to look down at her beaming, bubbly expression.

 

“Yeah. I like you.”

 

“I like you, too.”

 

Her lids flicker down with a heaviness he thinks indicates she’s going to sleep, but instead she leans up with a gentle hand cupping his cheek, kissing him with softness he thought only came from peach skins and marshmallows. He purses his lips, but doesn’t _really_ kiss back.

 

“I needed that,” she sighs.

 

“Did you?”

 

“Mmhm.”

 

She scoots closer, and again, his heart pounds with the idea that she’s just going to go to sleep. But she doesn’t. She tilts her strong jaw up to him, eyes barely open, and they kiss. This time it’s deliberate on his end. Nothing deep, soul-changing, but satisfying for sure. They kiss a little more, his hand brave enough to move into her hair as she stretches a leg over his lap.

 

It’s probably wrong, but he doesn’t have a hesitation when it comes to thinking that it’s also _really fucking right._

 

Her tongue tastes slightly like cherry syrup.

 

Eventually, she falls asleep, her even little breaths reassuring him that she isn’t suffocating. He’ll probably catch her cold. But that’s okay. Being here while she sleeps on him is weirdly cathartic. When she stirs at the end of the episode, he brushes his fingers through her hair until her grip relaxes around him once again.

 

“You’re okay. I’m here,” he says softly, both of them wondering if this is all a dream.

 

But he loves the way she looks when she sleeps.

 

~~~~

 

By some miracle, he doesn’t catch her cold, and she recovers from hers, and they awkwardly stumble their way through their next dinner until dessert, at which point she offers to take him downstairs.

 

“Y-yeah,” he coughs, standing so fast that his chair nearly topples over and catches on his suspenders. They meander their way into the basement, little slices of chocolate cake sliding on the tiniest plates he’s ever seen until he has to dip a finger in its frosting just to keep it from sliding off the edge.

 

They queue up some baking show, but he’s barely paying attention, focused on licking his fingers clean and trying not to embarrass himself in an attempt to read the situation.

 

“So…” She holds the plate in her lap, not daring to take a bite yet. “Did I embarrass myself last time you were over?”

 

“You don’t remember?”

 

She swallows, not responding.

 

“No. You were…it was fine.”

 

He’s not sure what else to say.

 

They don’t talk about it, Betty picking at her cake until he’s sucking his fork clean. She stands to clean up.

 

“Let me help you.”

 

“No, I—” They sort of dance into each other near the trash, and Betty looks up at him with such apprehension that he almost wants to hug her and tell her to forget it. “Isn’t it…isn’t it _weird_ for me to like you?”

 

He almost laughs right in her face. It’s _not_ what he expected. “Um, yeah?”

 

Nodding, resigned, she moves as if to pass him.

 

In a strange surge of confidence, he grabs her by the wrist. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t like each other, right? It’s not like they’re married.” His gaze stays trained on her lips, darting up to her eyes confirmation. That she wants this. That they can…they can _have_ this.

 

“Right.” Her slow nod transforms into steps closer, and to his surprise they find themselves kissing again. Tentatively, but with each kiss, he gets a little braver. Deepening it. Sucking on her lips. The slightest hint of her teeth on his skin makes him irrevocably hungry. His fingers flex with the desire to haul her onto the couch with him to bare themselves under the cover of quilts and baking shows.

 

“Juggie, I—”

 

“What?” he breathes against her parted lips, reveling in the way he must taste like chocolate to her.

 

“I want to…I kinda wanna date you. If that’s okay…I don’t know…”

 

“Yes,” he says, kissing her harder. “Yes. _Yes_.” They tumble back to the couch kissing until it’s time to go, and he stares at her reddened mouth and mussed hair and thinks he loves her carefulness and her recklessness all at once.

 

~~~

 

They go to the movies. They go bowling. They go to museums. Holding hands, kissing, laughing, flirting. Their parents don’t know, although he’s seen the shrewd glances his dad throws over when Betty laughs particularly hard at one of Jughead’s jokes, or when he smiles too big when she says something smart.

 

“They’re gonna find out,” she worries, glancing at the locked door of his room on one of the days his dad’s working late and her mom thinks she’s out studying.

 

“How? They’ll probably break up anyway, and then we can just casually…be more open about it.”

 

She doesn’t seem so sure, but she kisses him something fierce, grinding down on him to chase something he’s only seen on the internet. His hand goes up her shirt, clutching her dewy back until she shudders against him, teeth catching his neck as he joins her in a messy finish inside the friction of his jeans.

 

“I love…”

 

He freezes, not sure how to react.

 

Betty notices his tension and quiets, drawing her head off his shoulder. “This. I’m sorry, I just—I don’t want this to end.”

 

“I know. I know,” he promises, brushing his fingertips on the side of her face.

 

He doesn’t want it to end either.

 

So when FP and Alice start snipping at each other, Betty and Jughead share excited, nervous glances. That this could be it. Their chance.

 

After a particularly harrowing fight involving slammed doors and bottles of wine, Jughead sneaks out to meet Betty in her room and busies himself under her covers, licking her sex until the only flavor he knows is hers, pulsing around his tongue and fingers.

 

“Soon, Betty,” he promises against her neck, and she sucks marks all over his chest and hips before laving his length with the entirety of her mouth.

 

He loves the way they come together.

 

~~~

 

“What the hell is that?” FP demands, gesturing to his waist.

 

“What?”

 

Subconsciously, he tugs at his shirt.

 

“That mark on your hip. Is that a bruise, boy?”

 

“Uh, yeah. I was paint-balling and—”

 

“Do _not_ lie to me!”

 

FP’s fist slams into the table with enough force that it rattles the glasses in the sink. Calming, he points at his son’s hip again. “Where did you get that bruise?”

 

Jughead’s mouth runs dry.

 

“Who is it?”

 

Nothing his brain can come up with is fast enough.

 

“ _Who_?”

 

FP stands up, the chair screeching on the floor behind him before getting so close he can smell the beer on his breath. “Jesus, Jug, I knew you had a crush, but I didn’t think you were dumb enough to fuck her.”

 

“You don’t know what the _hell_ you’re talking about!” he snaps, shoving his dad out of the way.

 

“Oh yes, I do! You’re not going anywhere without my say-so. Alice will _kill_ you, and if she doesn’t, I might have to!”

 

“Why?” he demands, eyes hard, jaw set evenly. “Why do you care? It’s not like you’re gonna marry her.”

 

“What if I did? What if I do wanna marry her? What then?”

 

“What, just to _spite_ me? You don’t love her.”

 

“Like hell I don’t!”

 

“What? Are you saying you love her smile? The way she listens to you? The way she laughs? Your conversations? You just know what you like in bed. Witty banter and a firm grip. Great fucking role model you are.”

 

FP’s fist cuffs him by the back of his shirt. “You better watch it, boy. Alice and I had a great relationship until you started messing with your girlfriend, and now I’ve been hedging my bets on how _serious_ we can be if our kids are running around together. Do you understand that? That you’re ruining this for _me_?”

 

“ _Ruining…?_ ” Incredulous, Jughead pushes himself free of his father’s grasp and shoves a bunch of stuff in a duffle bag.

 

“You’re making a mistake!” FP calls, but Jughead can barely hear him over the pounding in his own ears.

 

_Dad knows_ , he texts Betty. _I’ll call you in five. Whatever happens, we choose this together, ok?_

 

By the time he gets to her house, Betty’s shaking like a leaf. “Mom’s not home. What did he say? What did you say?”

 

When he finishes his tale, she’s still stroking the spots she thinks FP hurt him. It doesn’t bruise, but it does feel nice to be caressed like this.

 

“Do you think we’re ruining their shot at happiness, Jug?”

 

“What? No.”

 

Her green eyes are glassy when she holds his hand.

 

“Maybe we should cool things down for a bit. Let them decide where they want to go.”

 

His grip tightens, determination coursing through his veins with the bitter taste of iron. “Betty, no.”

 

“I just…I can’t be responsible for their unhappiness.”

 

“You’re not. You’re the strongest, most considerate person I’ve ever known. They’re the ones who would hurt us, not the other way around.”

 

Still, she cries into his sweater until it’s soaked and chilly, offering him a new one. They make love soft and slow as she keeps reassuring him, “I want it to be you. Only you.” He doesn’t want it to end so fast, but it does.

 

_It’s not over_ , she promises. _Just put on hold until things calm down. I’ll still message you every night, okay?_

 

And he’s left with a warm, clean sweater and a hole the size of a cupcake in his heart.

 

~~~

 

Betty cries all week. Her mother took her phone, but she sneaks online at the library and at school, sending Jughead worrying messages that make him knot his fists into his hat and want to tear it to shreds in lieu of this stupid situation.

 

Alice goes Ice Queen any time she sees him but must have some agreement with FP not to rip him limb from limb.

 

“Have a great date,” he often scoffs, immediately going to call Betty under a secondary number. They do video chats. They talk. But the pressure weighs heavy on his chest when her eyes are rimmed pink from tears and sleepless nights. He sniffles instead of smiles when she laughs, longing to feel the vibrations of her against his chest.

 

“I miss you.”

 

“I miss you, too.”

 

She ditches one of her after-school activities to just go the forest with him for an impromptu hike.

 

“I miss this,” she smiles, holding his hand.

 

“Betty, this is stupid. We should just be together.”

 

Alarmed, she pulls them off to the side. “But I thought we had to—”

 

“We don’t _have_ to do anything. I want to be with you.”

 

“Me too, but—”

 

“No buts. Are you…are you going to go all in with me on this?”

 

Her big eyes search his, like maybe she can’t believe that it’s real. “Yes.”

 

“ _Yes,”_ he repeats, more to himself than anything else as he squeezes her hand in victory.

 

He loves that she’s not afraid to take risks.

 

~~~

 

They approach their parents like they’re going to war. Betty straightens her chin. Jughead clenches his jaw. Hands joined, they tell them.

 

“We’re going to be together.”

 

“Have you lost your damn minds?!” FP shouts over Alice’s disbelieving eye roll. “You’re practically related!”

 

“Jughead might be my family, but we’re not related,” Betty says coolly, so composed that it almost shakes Jughead to the core.

 

“This is just a rebellious phase,” Alice waves.

 

“No, Alice. This isn’t a fling. Our relationship isn’t about being lonely or messing with either of _you_ or sticking it to the status quo. We’re in love with each other.”

 

Even though her lip trembles, Betty looks at him like she thinks he can fly and he has to resist kissing her right then.

 

FP threatens to ship him to move in with his biological mother (as if she’d take him) and Alice makes some pretty nasty comments about Betty’s personality, but Betty and Jughead stand strong as a united front.

 

Later, after they’ve stepped out to Pop’s to give their parents time to digest, Jughead tries to ease the tension in her palms. “They aren’t seeing the positive side of this. Think of all the double date possibilities.”

 

Betty laughs, rolling her head onto his shoulder. They share their meals and contemplate quasi-moving into Pop’s for the 24-hour service and job opportunities and joining a gym purely for the showers. There might be friends they can stay with. Maybe Polly, even.

 

They’re too young to be so worried about just wanting to _date_ one another.

 

Even if he can’t imagine not marrying her.

 

A few more months, and maybe he can.

 

Shouldn’t, probably, until he has a better job than the movie theater, but he kind of _wants_ to.

 

As she traces her fingers over his, he pulls her in tightly and kisses her forehead.

 

Because she’s right.

 

They could be each other’s family. They are. They will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @jandjsalmon for cleaning up commas, etc, and being a fabulous person all around. Anyone else a giant squishy muffin of love for these two? Tell me your thoughts! I love them so much!


End file.
